


Nothing Given, Nothing Gained

by saliache



Series: Grand Porn Central [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Public Sex, Rimming, Size Difference, definitely an audience there though, naga Sauron, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1282798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saliache/pseuds/saliache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron and Finrod, in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Given, Nothing Gained

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stardustspirals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustspirals/gifts).



What… happened?

“Finrod!” a half-familiar voice called out, distantly. His head was fuzzy, in the way that meant that something had done its best to tear its way through his head recently.

“Lord!” Edrahil cried out, urgently.

Warm hands slid over his body, raised him up, tilted his head back. He opened his eyes blearily. Edrahil knelt before him, bound and bleeding from very precise cuts etched into his flesh. Their eyes met, confusion mingling with desperation.

“Your companions knew nothing,” Sauron’s voice rumbled, warm as the air in Nargothrond’s busy forges. “Pretty one, might you know more?”

“Go… go crawl back to your master writhing on your belly, snake.” His voice sounded so harsh compared to Sauron’s. It was almost unfair. “I have nothing for you.”

“Nothing?” Sharp claws traced their way down his arms, along his chest. He managed not to shudder at the sensation. “Will you say the same when I open your flesh, when I see what you are made of down to the last useless scraps?”

“Yes.” Monster.

Sauron sighed in regret, and Finrod could feel its echo in the back of his own throat. “I believe you,” he said. “But even you are not immune to the cruel weakness of your kind, little elf.”

“I have nothing for you,” he repeated. “No matter what you may do.” All… all was lost, anyway, if they had been captured. Tol-in-Gaurhoth’s dungeons were secure. He himself had seen to that, once.

A lifetime ago.

Sauron caught at the train of his thoughts. “It is such a lovely tower,” he agreed. “Think of this as a reward, and it will go easier.”

And his hands were being bound behind his back, Sauron whispering sweet endearments into the crook of his neck, soft breaths puffing against his skin with every syllable. There was an odd scent to it, one that sent shivers down his spine and lit a fire in his belly.

“Nothing,” he whispered. He would give nothing away.

Sauron’s hands slipped down, over his belly, caressing it. “So soft,” he murmured, amazement coloring his voice. “Lovely.”

He was settled onto an oversized thigh, as hot and hard as the rest of the Umaia. A moment later, it changed, shifting, almost liquid in feel. He had heard tales about Sauron’s shapeshifting, but this – this was so different from the way the other Ainur he had known shifted. More arms grew to grasp him, slide him down to the snakelike thing Sauron’s legs had become. Sauron coiled around him, trapping him, forcing his head up to meet Edrahil’s. There was a strange horror, an almost-denial in Edrahil’s eyes.

“Strength,” he whispered. “There is nothing he can take from us that we cannot give willingly.”

“Lord,” Edrahil mouthed, desperately.

“You are wrong, little one,” Sauron said, laughing. “I can take much from you, whether you will it or not.”

He realized that near the junction where Sauron’s mannish torso met snake’s body, the scales puckered into a slit. It was akin to sitting on an oddly-skinned lap. And even as Edrahil watched, as all his men watched, as even Beren watched, the slit flexed, and opened. Sauron’s… member… was long, and thick, and hot, and it slid between his thighs and prodded, leaving behind wet, sticky-slick trails.

“Nothing,” he repeated. “I give you nothing. Nothing! ”

Sauron’s voice was disappointed. “Given or not, I will take it. And in the end, you will give willingly.”

He would not. But Sauron flexed, and something that was not oversized cock slid into him, wriggling a bit at the ring of muscle before sliding through. He resisted the urge to cry out at the sudden intrusion; he would give Sauron nothing.

Sauron moved in him, and he could feel wetness dribbling from his arse, and he became very aware of warm air puffing over his hips, which would make that –

Sauron’s tongue slid over something that wrung a gasp from him. He was suddenly, intimately aware of the smooth hardness of Sauron’s scales, of firm hands holding him down, of the tip of Sauron’s leaking cock tucked beneath his balls, of what had to be precum sliding down his own cock. Edrahil’s cries seemed far away now, compared to the pleasure sliding through his body.

“Nothing,” he reminded himself. It seemed a lie. Nothing.

Sauron took his time. His tongue slid along Finrod’s thigh, tasted the pulse-point of the big blood vessel there, slid up to slide between his buttocks to prod at the loosened ring of muscle there. It was… indescribable. Finrod thrust back instinctively, barely holding back a low whine.

There was a rhythm to it, he realized. Sauron would lick, then thrust, and lick again. His thrusts were deeper, and his tongue was wider now. and longer than it had any right to be. It was slick, too, and all of Finrod’s attempts to push it out ended in frissions of unexpected pleasure.

Unexpectedly, Sauron’s tongue retreated. The Umaia’s extra arms released him, retreated somewhere. He was pulled back up against a man-shaped torso, legs lifted. Hands stroked softly, gently, at his cock, and he wriggled with frustration. The hands holding his legs up tightened, and he was lowered gently onto Sauron’s cock.

He almost would have preferred more tongue. Sauron was large enough to fill him, and more; he shuddered around it, stretched to his limit. It was rock-hard, and just as immovable. A hand snaked down to fondle his balls, and he realized that Sauron had none in this form. It was almost unfair.

“Stroke yourself,” Sauron purred. “Show me your desire. Show me you mean it.”

He’d done this before, in the privacy of his own rooms in Nargothrond. He hadn’t since he’d left Nargothrond, but the movements came easily; grip here, slid there, twist. It wasn’t long before he could feel his limit approaching.

Sauron’s body shifted, bringing his face up for a kiss. His lips met the Umaia’s, and he suckled desperately at Sauron’s, demanding release. He could feel his body shuddering, near climax, and the Umaia finally kissed back, fierce and glorious. He came, harder than he ever had, trembling at the feel of Sauron still firmly within him.

“See?” Sauron whispered to him, letting his body slide to the floor. “Not rape.”

And as the world faded around him he thought he could see Sauron dragging a fighting Edrahil towards him.


End file.
